Last Song
by eleezyienne
Summary: I am a composer but I never thought I could have this much fun by just meeting 4 foreigners...(I suck in summaries)
1. Default Chapter

eleezyienne: OK, so I started another fic...but I'm not sure if this is going to be good. I'm just bored and the idea just suddenly appeared. I'm betting this is going to be one of those junk fics that'll eventually rot...

Disclaimer: I don't own Saiyuki.

***

Chapter 1: The Composer

_"Life is just a Song..."_

I am a composer. I write songs not because of money but rather because of the thought that one day, somebody will sing my song. I find it greatly remarkable to make something out of nothing. It's wonderful to know that people, helpless as we are, can create beauty that didn't exist thirty minutes ago. To write THE song is my supreme ambition. To hear my song is my greatest pleasure. To be loved by my song is my utmost fear.

My inspiration is everywhere. It lies beneath us for me to find. It hides its beauty away from ignorance for me to discover. It remains to be untouched for me to conquer. It's an extraordinary thing labeled ordinary by shallow minded infidels. It can take in any form, may it be a flower, a child, an emotion or an individual. It's everything around us. It's life.

But I have my greatest inspiration, my mind. 

I met them a year ago. I considered it a brief encounter with destiny. However, I have a very strange practice of not accepting destiny no matter how tempting it is. For me, life is a continuous voyage of evading one's destiny. I refuse to be controlled by my god. Therefore, I shall live as I see fit. Away from the course of time, away from destiny. But destiny has a funny way of making things work exactly the way it wants it to. And so, I remain a desperate prisoner of my own life. 

They liberated me for a while, though. And I'll never forget how contented I was. To live a life to the fullest. To be standing at the edge of my own cliff everyday. To face danger without any fear. And to be loved, of course. Nevertheless, it was only for a moment. And moments last. Unfortunately...

I never got to see them again. I never even got to say goodbye. Although goodbyes are undeniably painful, I longed to say my farewell. Even if I have to let out every bit of my anguished heart which will surely either bore the hell out of them or make them laugh so hard. I just want to know that this'll be the end. But I never had the chance. And I'll never know when I'll be finished. Their memory hunts me...like my unfinished symphony.

This is my story...

***

12-25

I have no money. My stomach rumbled so loud I'm sure people can still hear it. I haven't eaten for three days and I'm lucky enough to be still walking. It's snowing and everything's cold. The park, the house, the people. I hate Decembers and I wished it never existed.

Carrying my guitar with my right hand and my left buried under my pocket, I headed to a small inn away from the outskirts of the town where everybody knew me by my first name 'Cheyenne'. I never knew how I came up with that name. But I'm sure I made it up a couple of years ago. I really don't know what my proper name is. All I know is that my bitch of an auntie called me 'Puta'...which unsurprisingly means bitch. I have dreamed to be called as "Delilah" or "Eve" or "Mary" like other nice girls but as I grew up, I came to realize that I'm more like what my auntie calls me, a bitch.

Of course, I never really knew what bitch meant.

As I entered, I noticed that the inn was practically almost empty except for an old man behind the counters and four rough looking guys at the center. Foreigners. I was sure they came from somewhere else, with their weird clothes and odd ornaments. I shrugged and directly seated myself at the far right corner of the room. 

After a while, a waitress appeared out of nowhere and asked for my orders. I said I just dropped by for some water and could she please give it to me? I found out that this waitress were like the other waitresses I've met. They ask you what you want so sweetly and when you finally tell them, they turn cold as ice. Sometimes they would even mutter a curse or two but it didn't really bother me at all. I can't blame them.

I stared at the foreigners as I waited for my water. It looked like they were having a feast and I can't help but salivate my ass off. I wondered how that fried noodle tasted like. I swallowed my own saliva as I saw the kid gulped it down in less than a second. He must have been hungrier than I am to gulp down the whole thing. I must have looked quite embarrassing gawking like some malnourished freak of nature and when the red head looked at me, I quickly turned away blushing. I am so pathetic.

I saw the old guy walk towards me with the bitchy waitress giving me the 'Your-going-to-be-kicked-out' look. I straightened my back and sat as properly as I could. I don't want to look like some beat up squatter while the old geezer's trying to kick me out. I came inhaled slowly and tried to calm my nerves.

"We don't give water for free." The old man said calmly but I was sure he was ready to kick my ass out anytime now. I looked at him and reasoned out, "Water's are always for free."

"Not here missy." That's the time I knew I had to use my speaking abilities to pull my act off. It's hard having no money. If only I could earn one. But who am I kidding? 

"I just need water. That's all."

He was such a persisting moron and I tried hard not to laugh. If this wasn't his inn, I would have made a laughing stock out of him. He raised an eyebrow, "Please get out." Please get out? Now, where did I hear that again? I gave him a sarcastic smile. I didn't want to be embarrassed all my life. And so I remained seated not looking at anybody, not caring at anything.

"Go out----"

"Hey, didn't you hear what she said? She's staying." I knew it was one of them. What are they going to do now? I decided to hear them out and act as if I wasn't there. Foreigners were always weird. Always. 

"But mister, she's not paying anything. And---"

"Well, has she ordered yet?"

"Water. Which just means that she has no money whatsoever." Aw, secrets...gone!

"We're paying." That took my attention. Did he just said he was paying? I turned to know who it was and saw the red head standing, grinning at me. He gave me a smile and continued, "Just tell her, it's from me. Sha Gojyo."

Sha Gojyo. I watched him as he handed a gold card to the man and nodded at me. The man was surely dumbfounded. He shook his head briefly and asked for my orders. Too bad I don't accept charity.

I grabbed the gold card away from the man and walked towards the group of guys. I noticed that they were strangely still. I stopped beside the red head and looked at him. He grinned and asked, "Thanking?" Thanking? He IS foreign. I gave him a sharp look and threw the gold card at him. "I have no use for that." I looked at his companions and shook my head in disgust. These are exactly the people who makes life a living hell. Quickly, I turned away an exited the room making sure that I looked cool doing so. I have been embarrassed too much.

***

I don't have a place to stay and I don't know where I'm heading, but I couldn't care less. I only need my mind and my guitar with me. Nothing more. But there was something bothering me. The guy with the gold hair. He looked so familiar. Where did I see him again? What bothered me most was his sutra around him. It looked like the same sutra I have. Except mine had a darker green color. Then it hit me, could I have been connected to him?

I sat down at the side of the road, resting my tired legs. I looked at my worn out shoes and hoped it would hang on a little more. If I ever get hold of money, I'm going to make sure I buy myself a good and sturdy shoe this time. If ever. 

I was left by my own thoughts again. And I couldn't help but wonder about that sutra around the blond. He was a Sanzo, the red mark on his forehead said it all. A man close to god...

But why did he have the Sutra of Heaven and Hell? Did he have the curse, too...?

I fell asleep with that thought.

***

eleezyienne: So, how is it? Sorry for the typos! 

*Please RxR, if you have time.


	2. Retreat

eleezyienne: I'm 15. Don't expect much.

Disclaimer: Do I look like I own Saiyuki? 

***

CHAPTER 2: Yielding To Death And Destiny (Retreat)

_"Life isn't a puzzle to be solved, it's a mystery to be lived..."_

There's nothing like a good sleep in the middle of a public sidewalk. 

I woke up and smelled the wonderful scent of shit and urine. Shaking my head in disgust, I stood up with great difficulty. My knees were uncontrollably wobbly, my head felt like squashed potatoes, and my body felt like a heavy sandbag. All in all, I was in excruciating pain.

Still, I dragged myself out from that slum I just came from to look for something, anything, to eat. Shaking my head, I tried to push the thought of food away from my pathetic mind. It's bad enough not to eat for three days, and I don't want to make it worse by fooling myself that anytime now, I can have a proper meal. But no matter how hard I try, food dominated my entire thinking at that time. I was tired, hungry and cold. I badly needed something to nourish me. All of a sudden, I felt so weak.

I don't want to stop walking, though. It's the only thing I CAN do considering that I'm all weak and starving. However I realized that there's one more thing I'm capable of doing, too.

SING.

I smiled at myself as I remembered the only talent I have. Ever since I was a child, I've been singing my ass off everywhere I go. It was amazing to share SOMETHING. The poor doesn't have anything to give, share or show and we have to live with that self-degrading thought. We just receive charity from fucking bitches who calls themselves nuns or bald dickheads who call themselves 'monks'. But I never thought of that as Charity. They give something and even though they tell us a hundred times that they don't need something in return, in reality, they think that you owe them your entire existence. And that just sucks BIG TIME.

So, driven by my ultimate goal of rejecting hunger, I sat on a bench nearby and pulled my guitar close to me. I held it against my chest as if my life was depending on it. It is, after all, my ONLY treasure in life. I heaved a sigh and softly strummed its strings. And sang.

Then my hunger was replaced by my passion.

I didn't care if people stopped and looked at me disgustingly. All I care is that I'm playing my guitar and singing my song. It's a sad song about a promise of eternal love made by a helpless romantic. The kind of song that stopped existing a thousand of years ago.

**

I kept on singing aware that anytime now, I'd collapse of hunger. And as everything got blurry, I begin to see something inside me. And I begin to pity myself. I wished I would die right then and there. I wished someone or something would kill me as I sing my song oblivious of the pain. I wished I would just get tired of breathing and slowly die on my bed of sorrow with my guitar and my song. I wished life would just slip away…

I jerked a little as a rock landed on my shoulder. Still playing, I looked up and saw a group of boys laughing and aiming some stones at me. They looked like little devils driven mad by the fun of hurting somebody. I wondered if their mothers knew about this. I wondered if their mothers ever taught them some basic manners or if ever they were scolded or disciplined? Or do they even have mothers at all?

I suddenly felt a pang of pity, for them and myself. It was pitiful to think that these children of the world would just waste away and would leave the earth as bastards who never knew what life really meant. Or what life was supposed to mean. Their youth robbed off from them by poverty and cruel destiny, which was never possible to control.

And so I pitied myself. Because their faces were mirrors reflecting who I was and, probably, still am. Their eyes, pools of corrupted soul and endless ignorance, eerily resembled mine. They were never given any chances, just like me.

The rocks looked like arrows of death slowly piercing my skin together with my pride. And for a moment, I stopped playing and prepared to hit them with my own. But then, I begin to see in another light.

As the rain of rocks continued, my eyesight began to blur again and I felt an amount of pain I have never felt before. The rocks hit me as though it would come right through my skin. However, I played my guitar again. Receiving each and every blow wholeheartedly, close enough to welcoming them.

Suddenly, they weren't little devils or bastards anymore, they were more like the guardians of men. They were my exit to the world. I saw them as a gift given by my song. And it was the perfect gift, the gift of DEATH.

**

Blood trickled down my face and I could see my life slowly slipping away. My body was numbing in pain but my mind was in perfect shape. In fact, it had never been this clear before. So this is how it felt to die. The prelude of death was the sweetest thing I've ever felt before.

As the pain grew, I began to play even louder. Strumming my guitar madly, unaware of the shadow of four men coming my way. This was the climax of my sad story of worthless struggle. I was rocking not by pain but by the passion I felt. This was my last concert, my last song.

The last stone was thrown and I finally welcomed death. I hugged my guitar and laid myself down on the bench. My life was over and I smiled. Slowly, I took my last glimpse of the guardians of men. I wanted to thank them for giving me the chance to die a wonderful death.

**

And I froze with what I saw. The boys were gone and in their place were four men all dressed in weird clothing. I was sure I saw them somewhere and as I pondered that, one of them rushed towards me and extended his arms. I didn't notice what he was doing and I didn't really care.

I was too tired to care. Shutting my eyes, I succumbed to death totally.

The tunnel was there, and the light at the end was clear. I thought I have already closed my door. I thought I have ended my suffering. I thought all of my pain was gone. I thought I was permanently living my own dream. I thought everything a person would think when he's dead.

And I thought wrong, of course.

Destiny was playing tricks again. And instead of death, it gave me life.

However, I wasn't able to know that immediately. I slept soundly for the next three days believing that I was already living my next life instead of just having another stupid dream.

I was unconscious of everything outside. I was unaware of the hot weather, the jeep, the loud chattering and arguments, the occasional screech of what seemed to be a vile creature, the small flying dragon licking my face, and the watchful gazes of four men. And as I dreamed of having a small farm and performing songs, and endlessly being happy, it was clear that the gods and goddesses were planning something.

Something together with these four men.

oooOOooo


End file.
